was precisely what Drusus had had in mind. And so forth aunt
and nephew sallied. Some of the streets they visited were so narrow
that they had to send back even their litters; but everywhere the
crowds bowed such deference and respect to the Vestal's white robes
that their progress was easy. Drusus soon had given his orders to
cabinet-makers and selected the frescoer's designs. It remained to
purchase Cornelia's slave-boy. He wanted not merely an attractive
serving-lad, but one whose intelligence and probity could be relied
upon; and in the dealers' stalls not one of the dark orientals,
although all had around their necks tablets with long lists of
encomiums, promised conscience or character. Drusus visited, several
very choice boys that were exhibited in separate rooms, at fancy
prices, but none of these pretty Greeks or Asiatics seemed promising.

Deeply disgusted, he led Fabia away from the slave-market.

"I will try to-morrow," he said, vexed at his defeat. "I need a new
toga. Let us go to the shop on the Clivus Suburanus; there used to be
a good woollen merchant, Lucius Marius, on the way to the Porta
Esquilina."

Accordingly the two went on in the direction indicated; but at the
spot where the Clivus Suburanus was cut by the Vicus Longus, there was
so dense a crowd and so loud a hubbub, that their attendants could not
clear a way. For a time it was impossible to see what was the matter.
Street gamins were howling, and idle slaves and hucksters were pouring
forth volleys of taunts and derision at some luckless wight.

"Away with them! the whip-scoundrel! _Verbero!_"[51] yelled a lusty
produce-vender. "Lash him again! Tan his hide for him! Don't you enjoy
it? Not accustomed to such rough handling, eh! my pretty sparrow?"

[51] A coarse epithet.

Fabia without the least hesitation thrust herself into the
dirty-robed, foul-mouthed crowd. At sight of the Vestal's white dress
and fillets the pack gave way before her, as a swarm of gnats at the
wave of a hand. Drusus strode at her heels.

It was a sorry enough sight that met them--though not uncommon in the
age and place. Some wretched slave-boy, a slight, delicate fellow, had
been bound to the bars of a furca, and was being driven by two brutal
executioners to the place of doom outside the gates. At the
street-crossing he had sunk down, and all the blows of the driver's
scourge could not compel him to arise. He lay in the dust, writhing
and moaning, with the